Landing Day
by Quallevra
Summary: The story from the aliens' point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**Landing Day**

Part 1

The Thoughtsea was, in its own way, almost as tangible as reality. It flowed with knowledge, stray thoughts, and pure emotions, caressing the open mind like a swirling current. Usually, it was strong and purposeful overall, although there were a thousand subcurrents of differing tones within it. Now, though, the whole Thoughtsea seemed to vibrating with an intense feeling of excitement and anticipation. She could understand that. Her own excitement was part of it.

A hand on her arm, and a soft mental nudge, called Ebbiar back to awareness of her immediate surroundings. She opened her eyes. Garasso looked affectionately down at her, his own eyes reflecting the lights of the display panel she'd been leaning next to.

"It's almost time for us to leave," he told her. "Last time I'll see you until Landing Day itself."

Ebbiar nodded. "I know." Her thanks to him for coming to find her was too obvious to be dwelt on, and was only an undercurrent, although he could hear that too. Mostly, though, it was excitement that still colored her thoughts. "We can see it now?"

"We can. Come on, I'll show you." Ebbiar followed Garasso through a walkway and out into the open. All of Homeship was bustling with excitement, and the Great Floor seemed more crowded, and busy, than usual. Many of the others were streaming in the same direction they were, and for the same reason. Still, there were many viewscreens. Garasso quickly found them one that wasn't overly crowded, so they could see.

There, hanging in space before them, was a bright sphere. It was all in vibrant blue, green, and brown, wrapped in an irregular covering of grayish-white atmosphere. Ebbiar stared in awe. She'd never seen a real planet before.

"That…?" For the moment, her thoughts formed no more coherently than that.

"That's it," Garasso confirmed. "Our harvest. There's a high vermin population we'll have to burn out, but it's expected to be quick work. Within three or four cycles at most, the way will be clear."

"And then, Landing Day." Ebbiar's thoughts managed to be both still with awe and vibrating with anticipation at one time. "I've never celebrated a Landing Day before."

"Neither have I, or most others here," Garasso reminded her, amused. "It happens once in most people's lifetimes."

Ebbiar felt another familiar presence approaching, and a moment later, Sippiyid came up next to them. She acknowledged Garasso with a respectful nod, although her attention was mainly on Ebbiar. "I thought I might find you here."

"Would I miss this? Three or four cycles…" Her expectations carried their own echo: "Such an event, the space and the surroundings, the celebration!"

"Landing Day itself is only the beginning," Sippiyid reminded her. "There remains the entirety of the harvest. That could take macro-cycles."

"During which we'll dwell down there."

"Yes," Garasso confirmed. "You've never been outside Homeship. You may well be enthusiastic." As a Striker pilot, he had been outside many times, on asteroid- and comet-mining runs, although he had no more experience with real planets than she had. Indeed, they didn't know anyone who did. The travel time between one harvest and another was so great that, as Garasso had said, most experienced only one in their lifetimes.

They looked up as a call spread through Homeship. "Harbinger forces are to board for departure now." Ebbiar turned toward Garasso, who nodded.

"You heard; I have to go. I'll see you again on Landing Day."

"I'll be waiting. Gook luck!"

Garasso briefly clasped her shoulder, then, exchanging another respectful nod with Sippiyid, he turned and hurried away. Ebbiar looked after him until he was out of sight. She could still hear him, of course, but Sippiyid pulled on her attention then. "Come. There are at least a couple of cycles left that we still have our usual duties, and the shift starts soon." Ebbiar nodded, and turned to follow her.

As they walked away, though, she glanced back for one more glimpse of the planet ahead. Soon…

* * *

The meeting occurred in the Overview Chamber, at the heart of Homeship, and for the moment, those within addressed only each other. The results would be shared with the masses soon enough. The screens showed the planet from various angles, as well as glyphs indicating flagged targets, notable statistics, and other important information.

"The native vermin have numerous major nests, all over the planet. They are also spread in thinner concentration across much of the surface, but the nests are easily the highest priority. If we swiftly burn them all out, most of the job will be done," Laddeeg summarized.

"They have more nests than we can hit simultaneously," Baaln noted. "Many of them must be relegated to follow-up targets. If they react by scattering, the job becomes significantly harder."

"Yes, but our observational studies suggest that they tend to group together when possible, in any case," Laddeeg pointed out. "They'll most likely run to, or even form, fallback nests."

"So we watch for those," Baaln confirmed. "The target pattern will be updated accordingly."

"Are we certain the threat of retaliation is negligable?" one of the others asked.

"Yes," Laddeeg assured them. "Scouts have studied this planet extensively. Native technology level has failed to even detect our presence in most cases, and has shown no ability to hinder us."

"Wait. I understood that one of our early Scouts was lost there," someone else pointed out.

"Not to native aggression," Baaln asserted, bringing up to the file for the others to see. "The last message reported mechanical failure, result of native atmospheric conditions. The problem was quickly adjusted for, and will not be an issue again."

Laddeeg glanced over the file. "A crew of three. Other Eyes on mission confirmed the deaths of two when the Scout when down. Fate of the third …unknown." He paused briefly, then shook his head. "Unlikely he survived all this time. Regrettable." He turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "The native vermin have weapons, but they are nowhere near sophisticated enough to cause any harm to our ships. They have no true transportation, nor real concept of the surrounding universe. Thus, they are inevitably unprepared, and have no allies to call to. They will be removed with minimal difficulty, I think, and certainly no threat."

There was a brief stirring of confusion from one or two of the others. "Why, then, do they have weapons at all, if they supposedly don't conceive of anyone to use them against?"

"They are fractious. They often fight against each other, usually in factions," Laddeeg explained. "This is why so many of the nests are recognized as authority nexuses."

"Odd, the ways of vermin," Baaln noted. "However, they have all the planet to spread across. Perhaps they can afford to behave thus." He looked up. "The Harbingers are nearly ready to launch. The techs have established that the native relay drones can be used to send our signal. Given the large number of them in stable orbit around the planet, we can rely on them. This will significantly save on resources."

"Though we'll soon have enough resources for a long time," whispered around the Chamber. Even the authority heads of the harvest preparation weren't immune to the anticipation of what lay ahead. First, however, it was their job to see that the obstacles were removed, so it could happen.

"It was one of these relay drones that smashed against the hull a few mini-cycles ago?" Laddeeg noted. Baaln confirmed. "Try to establish an orbit out of their path, as much as possible. There's no sense wasting something we can use. Is the signal set?"

Baaln nodded. "The signal is up and running, countdown ready to commence at eight master-cycles. That will give us sufficient time to both position and observe. All ready to commence."

Laddeeg accepted that. "Start countdown, and launch the Harbingers."

* * *

The ship vibrated slightly around them as it separated from its resting place and started toward the planet. Garasso felt a shiver of excitement of his own. He'd been out in a Striker many times, but crewing on a Harbinger was something else again. It was big enough to be more reminiscent of Homeship itself, but there was a different feel to it all, reminding him that this wasn't Home. He savored the moment, and not only for himself. He and Ebbiar were still in contact, and he was happy to share.

"So this is really it. You ready for the big time?" Veen asked, coming up next to him.

"Are you? Scorching a vermin nest isn't like boring an asteroid," Garasso pointed out.

"Like you're the expert? How many vermin have you dealt with?"

He hadn't dealt with any, of course, but Garasso would have come up with some boast, just the same, if he had been paying Veen more of his attention. As it was, Veen quickly noticed where his attention was flowing. He offered a quick, friendly greeting to Ebbiar, then backed off—for the moment.

Garasso twined his thoughts with hers while he could, but he could see the hull of Homeship getting further away as the Harbinger sped toward its destination. Ebbiar clung for those last moments. "I miss you already."

"I know. I'll be waiting for you down there, when it's clear."

"I'll be waiting to join you. Until Landing Day." With a last mental caress, the connection faded, as the ship moved out of range. Ebiarr continued to watch its progress on the small screen for a few moments, then finally turned away. The terminal was just outside the storage area, and was usually reserved for allocation charts. Sippiyid was waiting in the doorway.

"Come on," she said gently. "The harvest hasn't begun yet, but the supplies we already have still need to be distributed. You've got basic kits, balcony wing five."

Ebbiar nodded. "I'm on it." Grabbing a loaded cart, she maneuvered around the other Distributors who were streaming into the room, and headed for the elevator entrance in the nearest strut. Everyone on Homeship had their job to do, and the normal order of things hadn't yet completely ceased.

* * *

As the Harbingers spread out and moved into position, heading for their repective primary targets, the communications flowed back and forth through the stream. The data signal was set to a diminishing loop, thus doubling as a countdown as it slowly narrowed. When it vanished, the burning would commence. In the meantime, they would observe the reactions of the vermin below, and update their schedule accordingly, while the stream was still strong.

"Plenty of time to spare for observing," Atchak noted. "Even with one of the longest routes to target, we'll arrive with nearly five sub-cycles left."

"We may need that long to make anything useful out of the vermin reactions," Terryf pointed out, "especially if they panic first, and rally later."

"Assuming they can rally at all," Atchak commented, but he had accepted what she said. Although he was the head of this Harbinger, he valued Terryf's council.

Many of the ships with shorter routes were already taking up position, and were sending out reports of fear and panic among the vermin below. So far, it was about what they expected. As soon as his ship was within sight of the nest it aimed for, Atchak had no doubt they'd inspire the same.

He looked up in interest as they picked up a small native aircraft, flying straight for them. Atchak pointed it out, but there was no real need. His crew were watching their monitors, and everybody had noticed. They listened carefully. It emitted confusion, mostly. The confusion gave way to a peak of terror, a moment before the aircraft destroyed itself against their hull. Atchak exchanged a small shrug with Terryf, before turning to the console and keying in a brief report.

Elsewhere on the ship, Garasso looked up from his monitor to share a look with Veen, who was posted next to him. "That was… interesting."

"Vermin idea of an attack?"

"No. I don't think they even knew what they were doing. I suppose visual interference is at a rather high level out there. Maybe they couldn't see us."

"They clearly saw us at the end," Veen noted. He paused, pensively. "I don't know. They can't see where they're going, and they apparently can't manuever very well. Is this what we're up against when the time comes for actual combat? I was looking forward to a challenge. And of course," he added wickedly, "to showing you how it's done."

"How what's done, barely pulling through?" Garasso asked, giving as good as he got. "Or perhaps you were going to instruct me in the art of getting lucky? Are you not the one who once had to take more than one try to line up a proper shot on asteroid?"

"Are you not the one who once blew apart an asteroid, only to have more than half the pieces promptly bounce off your own windshield? And who took nearly a mini-cycle to restabilize?"

"Are you not—"

"Enough!" Atchak cut in. He'd heard them, and although he wasn't nearly in the same room, they could feel the look he'd be giving them. "You're to be watching the monitors."

"Sorry," they quickly offered. They had, perhaps, let themselves get too distracted. The was a high chance their skills as Striker pilots would come into play, in combat against the vermin, and they were eager to try—and to show what they could do.

Atchak noticed. "There has been no attempted strike against us yet," he reminded them. "That means, if they try to fight us at all, it almost surely will not be until after our own first strike. In the meantime, if you would be prepared, concentrate on watching them now."

It was not long after that they were in position over their target. Atchak sent confirmation through the stream, keying in his own and his ship's identification, and the verification: "Atchak, Harbinger 2-6, reached location." Such communication was limited in many ways, really. Although their system of glyphs allowed for a number of sentiments, as well as most types of hard information that might need to be sent, it was no substitute for a genuine, mind-to-mind conversation. However, for times like this, when they were off Homeship and out of range, it was what they had.

Certainly, the stream was adequate for sending reports on what they were hearing from the planet's surface below. As expected, Atchak heard mainly fear and franticness from the nest below, as well as observing a modest amount of scattering, and he relayed the report accordingly. Most of the reports were the same.

There was slight variation from some. Felluw, head of Harbinger 2-4, was hearing fear like the others, yes, but he also picked up a strong core of tightly held calm and control, from right below in the heart of the nest. However, that particular nest was also an authority nexus, so it probably made sense. Atchak knew that the one below him was no such thing.

Felluw soon sent another report. "Relocating of sizable vermin group from nest to elsewhere. Too controlled to be further scattering. Feels important. Suspected heading to alternate or fallback nest." The movement was accordingly tracked, and the destination (apparently a hidden fallback authority nexus) added to the list of targets. That was why they were waiting and watching now: to see where the focus gathered in response to a crisis, and so to know what else had to be burned out. Not every nexus was marked by a population concentration.

Like all the others, Atchak watched as the reports passed through the stream, and as new targets were added, and the routes adjusted accordingly. Some of those targets might be assigned to his ship, after all.

* * *

When the shift was over, Ebbiar found her way back to Sippiyid's side. She could have opened herself to the Thoughtsea again, but it was hard to pick specific information out of there, and right now, she was after something specific. "Sippiyid, do you have any knowledge of what it's like on a planet? Someone must remember the experiences of those who took part in the last harvest. Have you ever seen any of them?"

"Still consumed with eagerness, are you?" Sippiyid asked fondly.

"Can you blame me?"

"No, of course not. We're all excited. And yes, I have witnessed a few actual experiences. I think they were passed along several times. I'll share them with you, if you like."

"Please." Ebbiar caught her breath at the images Sippiyid showed her. A surface of strange texture stretched underfoot, going on for as far as she could see in all directions. There was no ceiling overhead either, just endless space, and it was all in such a wealth of colors. She caught hints of strange sounds and smells, and the very air seemed to move against her like the tides of the Thoughtsea itself.

It was only a moment's worth of imagery, but Ebbiar spent what felt like nearly a mini-cycle immersed in it before she and Sippiyid released it. She blinked as it faded. Her senses felt like they needed a few moments to readjust to the common, familiar sight of Homeship's encircling dark surfaces and constant, plain aqua light. She stared at Sippiyid.

"That's the surface of a planet? That's… amazing. Everything was…" She could barely organize her impressions coherently.

"It was the last harvest, I believe, or maybe the one before that. It won't be exactly the same when this Landing Day comes, you know. Every planet is at least somewhat different, as I understand."

"Incredible. And we'll get to see this one ourselves, and actually stand there…" Ebbiar's thoughts were hushed with awe. After a moment, something else occurred to her. "Sippiyid? Is this why you honor the ancient world? Because you'd seen those memories?"

Although it was long forgotten, the Arretchi knew that their ancestors had been spawned by a planet as well, before they'd broken its bonds and found their role wandering the void. There were two schools of thought, one that credited this long-ago planet as their true progenitor, and one that said they were truly children of the void, and had only taken time to find their way back to their proper home. Ebbiar wasn't really sure which she favored, but she knew that Sippiyid was of the planet-school.

"I don't know for sure," Sippiyid answered her. "I believe I'd have felt that way anyway, in truth, but having access to those experiences couldn't have hurt."

* * *

"What do you suppose is causing it?" Veen asked. Atchak's crew had picked up an odd phenomenon: a growing bubble of excitement and joy in the middle of the nest below, in stark contrast to the fear that permeated the rest of it. Veen and Garasso were diligently continuing to watch their respective monitors as they discussed it with each other.

"I don't see any explanation, unless it's also in response to us, of course," Garasso answered. "I suppose it's possible that some of the vermin are unsure if we're truly threatening them or not, at this point, but it doesn't seem to justify this."

"They've otherwise acted like they realized. Do we know if those signals are supposed to be some kind of attack or not?"

"The radio signals? The energy-shielding is absorbing so much of their strength, it's impossible to tell what they are. Probe, disruptor signal, even attempted message. Who knows?" Garasso shrugged. "Whatever their intention, it's failed. Hmm. Maybe some of the vermin are happy to see the others' efforts fail. It was reported that opposed factions exist among them," Garasso mused.

"Maybe. Or maybe they're happy they'll soon have the honor of death at a distinguished warrior's hands. On the other hand, you're here too, and you'd think that would discourage them again."

"Right, when's the last time you shot at anything that wasn't a rock again? Maybe they're celebrating the hope that all they'll have to contend with is the likes of you."

"Say that again after we do get some action, when I'll have taken out a whole fleet of them."

"No, I'll be busy resting, after having destroyed three fleets to your one."

Veen snorted. "You'll be busy hiding in shame after you failed to do any harm."

"Well, at least I'll find a hiding place with a good view, so I can watch them make you turn tail and run."

"No, that's your face I'll be running from."

From the heart of the ship, Atchak sighed. He could hear those two, at it again. However, he could also tell that a sufficient amount of their attention remained on the task at hand, so he left them alone.

The stream had grown narrow. There was less than half a sub-cycle left, and the burning would commence. The schedule was set. Everyone had their routes to follow, and follow-up targets to hit. The synchronized destruction of the primary targets would launch the whole agenda into motion.

No one really expected any important developments at this stage, so Atchak was somewhat surprised to see a priority message coming through the stream, originating from Felluw on Harbinger 2-4. "Several native aircraft now hovering just outside hull. Formost displaying bright light in moving pattern. Countdown? Charging sequence? Request permission to destroy."

"Interesting. Do you suppose we were wrong; that the vermin will try to attack first after all?" Atchak mused.

"It's a weak attempt, if so," Terryf commented.

"Or a probing strike."

"It could be that," she acknowledged. "On the other hand, perhaps it isn't an attack at all."

A reply had come back through the stream from Homeship, bearing Laddeeg's mark. "Little to no possibility of aircraft actually posing threat. No need to destroy now."

Felluw's response was swift. "Still wish to destroy. In name of caution."

After several moments, Laddeeg replied, "In name of impatience? If so determined, proceed."

"It sounds like we'll never know for sure whether it was an attack or not," Atchak noted. "Felluw isn't giving them the chance. Oh, well. I suppose it doesn't matter either way. That nest, like many of the others, will be gone very soon now."

He and Terryf watched as Felluw sent a "Job done" signal. A mini-cycle later, he sent another message. "Nest's center of controlled calm dissolving into fear. Apparent renewed scattering attempts."

"Do you suppose he'd sound proud of himself, if we could actually hear him?" Atchak asked Terryf.

"It's quite possible."

It was the last major communication through the vanishing stream. They were down to mere mini-cycles now, and everyone watched them dwindle away in relative silence. Finally, the stream vanished to nothing, its last moment carrying only a single, clear glyph: "Commence."

Atchak relayed the sentiment to the Harbinger's crew, though they had all seen it. Immediately, bustling began around key control consoles, as they opened the panels on the bottom of the ship and started charging up the thermetic cascade. It didn't take long to charge. The carrier beam was trained on the tall structure just below them—one of the tallest structures at the center of the nest, which they had specifically centered over for the purpose. It was also, Atchak idly noted, the center of that bubble of happiness and excitement that had developed below.

He felt that excitement stutter, then briefly flare into fear just as they released the pulse. Traveling swiftly down the carrier beam, it reached the structure below, and the explosions began. The cascade moved quickly, spreading outward through anything dense enough to transmit it. As the nest below began to burn, cheers filled the Harbinger. In a way, this was the true beginning of the path to Landing Day.

As the cascade's progress widened, engulfing the nest from the center outward, most of the crew joined in the Thoughtsea, the better to share the moment. Some, including Atchak himself, had to remain focused on the instruments, just in case, but he allowed his crew to indulge. There were numerous other targets waiting for them, but there wouldn't be another time like the first, unified action.

Indeed, while those within the Thoughtsea were only truly in contact with each other, they could pick up the presence of other wells of merged presence, elsewhere on this planet, just out of range. It seemed all the Harbingers' crews were reacting the same. They could even faintly feel the presence of the true heart of the Thoughtsea, back on Homeship, in the distance.

Garasso imagined he could almost sense Ebbiar in there, if he tried, though he knew he really couldn't. It was too far away. Some would also say that it was nearly impossible to pick one presence out of the Thoughtsea, but that wasn't true. After all, he could clearly feel Veen, right here with him and everyone else. For the moment, there were no challenges or boasts, only the shared pride of a job well begun, and the promise of what was to come.

While those on Homeship were less personally invested in any one of the blooms of fire below, they had the vantage to witness them all at once, and to truly see the big picture. In a single, perfectly coordinated action, the Arretchi had destroyed a large percentage of the vermin, and it was just a matter of time before they'd have removed them completely, clearing the way for Landing Day and the harvest. The Thoughtsea rang with unified pride and anticipation.

Ebbiar's wasn't the least of it. The planet was fairly covered with the signs of their progress, Landing Day would be soon, …and Garasso was down there, helping make it happen. She was so proud of him in that moment, and her pride and excitement joined those of the rest of Homeship, buoying everyone in a great wave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Landing Day**

Part 2

Eventually, Atchak called to the crew, trying to pull them back from the Thoughtsea. It was difficult, focusing his one call enough to be heard through that, but he did it. At first, only a few responded, but soon, others did as well. As the rest noticed not only Atchak's order, but the dwindling number of minds joined to theirs, they pulled out as well, and soon enough, he had the attention of his crew again.

"It was a job well done, but it was just the beginning," he reminded them. "We have a route layout of follow-up targets, all of which need to be burned out as well before Landing Day can occur. So let's get moving!" With unanimous agreement, they turned back to their stations, and Harbinger 2-6 left the ruins of the first nest behind to move on to the next.

The secondary, stable stream was now in place, so everyone was in communication if needed. While the routes were set, it was still a possibility that some new development would require a change of plans. Besides, there would likely be other reports to make soon enough. If the vermin were going to try and attack them, it would be during this time.

Indeed, it was only a few sub-cycles later that Atchak and his crew detected a large number of native aircraft coming toward them, with clearly hostile intention. Atchak keyed in the report, even as he warned the Striker pilots to prepare.

"We're the first to detect an attack?" Terryf noted, looking over his shoulder.

"We are," Atchak confirmed. "Though not the last," he added, as several other like reports appeared over the stream as well. They seemed to be scattered over the planet. Personally, he doubted there was any coordination between them.

"This is it! Time to get hands-on." Garasso felt a thrill of anticipation as his armor's membrane settled around him. While he'd piloted a Striker on countless jobs, this was different from all of them.

"Shoot down the vermin ourselves: so much more satisfying than pushing buttons at a console," Veen agreed. "Ready to bask in the greatness of my flying skills?"

Garasso's armor finished locking into place around him. "Ready for me to show you how it's done?" He flexed the armor's bio-tentacles. With the membrane acting as a conduit, they could be controlled directly, and provided a direct connection with the world around them through the muffling armor, should it be needed. Honestly, they didn't know of a time when anyone ever had needed them, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen.

Veen lashed his own armor's tentacles once. "Hope you can keep up." They arched arms toward each other in a last salute, then headed for the Strikers.

Atchak and Terryf watched the screens as the vermin aircraft threw several impotent assaults against their hull. "Small, contained explosions from a solid delivery unit," Atchak noted. "It's nothing close to a threat. Well, we knew that." He started to turn his attention to the pilots.

"Wait," Terryf cautioned. "See the output on those explosions? It may not be a threat, but it's a significant force, by Striker standards. A direct hit will send one tumbling. They should be prepared for that."

Atchak looked at the readout again. "Yes, I see. Good catch." He nodded gratefully at her, before relaying the warning to the pilots. They acknowledged, but they weren't really worried. A moment later, their fleet of Strikers took off, exiting the Harbinger and engaging the native craft.

"Did you notice? One of these smashed itself against the hull, too," Veen commented.

"Maybe, but the rest of them seem agile enough. Maybe it had a poor pilot," Garasso suggested. He opened fire, and was quickly rewarded when his target went down in flames. "First kill! Bow before me, Veen!"

Veen was annoyed, although he tried to muffle it. "First is only an opening footnote. Glory goes to whoever downs the most targets in the end. And that will be me!"

"Then you'll need to catch up, because I'm pulling ahead already."

"Maybe to someone who can't count. There goes another one, mine."

"You'll need all you can for a consolation, I suppose." Garasso broke off in a surprised gasp as his Striker was sent reeling by an enemy hit. It spun wildly for a moment before he righted it.

"Hey, you okay over there?"

"I'm fine." He was back in control again. "Atchak wasn't kidding; they hit hard." After a moment, he added, "Watch out for them yourself. We both know how fragile you are."

Veen snorted. "Right. Be careful youself. Don't get so distracted dodging the enemy shots that you embed yourself in the ground. Your attention doesn't divide in that many directions, does it?"

The determination that had originally emanated from the native craft was swiftly giving way to desperation, as the Strikers destroyed more and more of them, and soon it seemed clear that those that remained were on the verge of fleeing. "Don't let them," Atchak ordered. "We're here to destroy the vermin, so ensure that they are destroyed." That was his most direct communication, but they could hear more than that from inside. "We've pinpointed the small nest they came from. When this batch is gone, the fleet will go scorch that nest."

"Sounds like fun—wait, look. We've got two scatterlings, already outside the perimeter of the battlefield and speeding away," Garasso observed.

"Then let's get them. Or, shall I just get them both for you?" Veen asked.

Atchak heard them. "Whoever does it, go after them and finish them off, then return promptly."

"We're on it." Garasso raced after the scatterlings, Veen right beside him. "Pick a target, and let's see if you can hit anything without the benefit of a dozen more likely to blunder into your path."

"I'll take the one further ahead. I doubt you could ever catch up to it." Both pilots focused on their target of choice, and opened fire as they raced low over the ground. The native craft were indeed agile, and evaded their shots so far, but it was just a matter of time. "They're already fleeing for their lives. Shouldn't be too hard to rattle them into getting careless," Veen noted.

"I'm way ahead of you. Mine's starting to panic; haven't you noticed?" Garasso taunted. "How about yours?"

"It's a cool one so far, but not for long."

"Maybe you just aren't that intimidating. I guess you'd actually have to be dangerous for that." Garasso narrowed his eyes at the craft he pursued. The creature within it was frantic and frazzled. Perfect. Garasso opened fire, and, as he'd expected, his target was no longer in any condition to dodge effectively. The craft burst into flaming pieces.

"My kill first… again!" Garasso said smugly.

"Don't get too comfortable preening. I'll take this one, and still beat you back to clean out whatever remains."

"Sure you don't need me to help you get that one?"

"I just need to make sure you don't get in my way," Veen shot back. "Seriously, go back. I'll rejoin you in a moment, maybe with a souvenir or something."

"Yeah, right. See you back at the Harbinger, whenever you finally make it." Garasso flew back toward the rest of the fleet. If he hurried, there might still be some of that small nest left to scorch.

Veen determinedly pursued his target. It really was a cool one; it was still relatively calm, no matter how closely he pressed his attack. He kept chasing and shooting. Sooner or later, this creature had to break.

Or… maybe it didn't need to. At the moment, Garasso had the upper hand on him, having claimed a victory while he, Veen, was still struggling to do the same. However, Garasso's quarry had been panicking. I might be well worth it to go back and boast of having taken down a target that was far more capable of putting up a struggle.

Really, Veen thought somewhat ruefully, it was the only way he was going to salvage enough from this skirmish to have anything to brag about. Otherwise, Garasso probably wouldn't shut up about it for cycles. Well, he wasn't going to make it that easy for him if he could help it. Indeed, Garasso would be disappointed if he did.

Veen kept trying to shoot down the aircraft he pursued. The annoying thing kept dodging, and their surroundings weren't helping. The chase currently proceeded down a long, narrow depression in the ground. Its course was twisty and winding, forcing his and his quarry's flight into an irregular path. It was hard to line up a shot.

Suddenly, a large sheet of some kind burst from the back of the native craft, plastering itself over Veen's windshield. Veen growled. He couldn't see where he was going, and the smug triumph he caught from the vermin pilot was far more gauling than Garasso's boasting could ever be. A few moments later, the sheet fell away—revealing an imminent collision with a flaming patch of the trench wall.

Veen barely had time to pull up. He failed to quite clear the top of the wall, and his Striker reverberated with the shock as it plowed hard across the ground. Veen was thrown forward, slamming into the control panel. Even through his armor, he felt the impact.

It was more faintly that he felt the Striker grind to a stop. Veen lay dazed for a moment. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to the vermin pilot. Hadn't that been the wreckage of its craft he'd glimpsed on the wall? Yet it was still alive; he could faintly hear it out there somewhere, shrieking in triumph.

It was dark. His Striker had lost power. Veen staggered to his feet and groped for the emergency hatch lever. It took him several tries to find it. When he did, he pulled it, opening the top. As the humidity in the Striker started quickly evaporating into the drier surrounding air, piercingly bright light shown in, half blinding him.

He could feel the vermin approaching, aggressively. Almost without realizing, Veen lashed wildly around himself with the bio-tentacles. He started to lunge forward, to get out of the confines of the crippled Striker. A half-made out form appeared before him, and a hard blow struck the side of his neck, just where flexibility made the armor weakest. Veen dropped back into darkness.

* * *

Garasso wasn't really bothered that the others had finished destroying the small nest by the time he got back. He'd accomplished plenty to be proud of himself, and was eager to compare accomplishments – and taunts – with Veen. By the time he and all the others were back inside the Harbinger and ready to resume course, however, it was clear that Veen wasn't there. He hadn't returned from pursuing the second scatterling.

Garasso went to Atchak. "Did he send a message, say what's taking so long?" He didn't want to think there was anything to worry about, and there shouldn't be, but he couldn't help but be a bit concerned.

Atchak shook his head. "There's been no contact. We're detecting the Striker, but only a basic signal, and it hasn't moved in a while. That suggests it's been downed."

"But… how would that happen? The vermin can't actually hurt us, right?" Now Garasso _was_ worried.

"I don't know. They can't inflict direct damage, true, but I suppose he could have been knocked into the ground or something."

"Let me go to the location and look for him, please. If the Striker's down, he'll need a ride back…" That was all it was, he told himself. If Veen's Striker had been damaged, and couldn't fly, then it probably couldn't communicate either. It didn't mean he wasn't okay.

Atchak easily heard the fears he was trying to suppress. He nodded. "Go, but stay alert, and return promptly. The planet isn't ours yet. It would be unwise to be careless." Garasso acknowledged that and, with a quick thanks, hurried back to his Striker.

It wasn't too long a flight to the location of the signal, at least, not when Garasso sped at top speed with nothing to distract him. In fact, though, that didn't really tell him how long Veen and his quarry might have kept up their chase. The ground beneath was anything but flat, and could have been used for cover by one party or the other if things had gotten complicated.

"If he did get downed by that vermin craft, I'm going to remind him about it all the way back," he promised himself. "I can't wait to see what kind of excuse he tries to come up with…" He trailed off. That was Veen's Striker ahead, but Veen was nowhere around. They'd already be in contact in he were.

Garasso slowed as he approached, scouting the scene. The Striker was on the ground a short distance from the edge of a large and irregular gash through the ground, some kind of natural formation. It looked like it had plowed along the ground from that edge to end up where it was. Dipping lower, Garasso made out the remains of the native aircraft below, where it had met its end down in the chasm.

"So, you did finish off the scatterling, but managed to crash in the process? Smooth, Veen. But, where are you now?" Garasso landed next to Veen's Striker and climbed out of his own. He didn't bother to approach cautiously; there was clearly no around. The cockpit, he quickly saw, was empty. The instruments were offline. Garasso jabbed at them once, to see if they'd turn on, but there was only an abortive sigh from the system, so he gave up. It probably wasn't past repair, but he wasn't likely to get it working on the spot, and there wouldn't be any point in trying.

Garasso turned and surveyed his surroundings more closely. Veen wasn't here, but then where was he? What could have happened? Noticing something, Garasso took a closer look at the ground. This part of it was comprised of some loose, powery stuff, and it looked as if a trail, something like a large drag mark, led away from the Striker. Was Veen at the other end, wherever it went? Atchak had said to come right back, but…

Garasso hurried back to his own craft and tapped in a message to the Harbinger. "Found Striker, not Veen. Possible trail. Permission to search?" He waited tensely for the reply.

After a moment, it came. "Permission denied. Return to Harbinger." Garasso slammed his fist against the side of the Striker in frustration.

* * *

Atchak was waiting for him when he returned. Whatever else, he was concerned as well. "I'm sorry. However, we have a schedule to keep, and everyone else expects us to do our part. And as I said before, the planet isn't ours yet. I can't afford to to risk losing track of another crewmember to an uncertain endeavor. Not right now."

"And the one we've already lost track of?" Garasso asked unhappily. He hit the release on his armor, and closed his eyes as it began to detach itself.

"Within cycles, the planet will be under our control. We'll easily be able to search for him then. Until then, Veen will have to look out for himself."

"For a cycle or two. Alright. That isn't too long to wait, is it?" Garasso tried hard to tell himself.

* * *

Normally, as head of resource distribution, Sippiyid simply followed set arrangements or responded to requests as they came in. The current circumstances, however, were anything but normal. All this cycle, she'd been making the rounds to the heads of other functions, arranging what would be needed where come Landing Day itself. It would be any cycle now.

Currently, Sippiyid was dropping in on Eariot, the shipmaster. He looked up and nodded as she came in. "I expected your visit."

Sippiyid nodded back. "Of course. All ships will soon need to be in service for the harvest. What will you need?"

"They'll be needed before that to aid in the final sweeping of the vermin. I've calculated the needed backup energy modules." He gestured her to the screens that showed the results, and Sippiyid marked it down on her charter.

"Parts?"

"There's currently no need for those. Everything's in good repair. Perhaps it's just as well. It's been a long time since the last harvest, and I understand some conversion will be necessary for what we find here. I've already had to make sure the whole Harbinger fleet, and full complements of Strikers, were ready to go. Should we be worried about module shortages before they can be replenished?"

"No," Sippiyid assured him. "We might have had trouble in time if we'd had to go farther to find a suitable planet, but as it is, we're well within our means. You'll have the energy modules you need, no worry. Anyway," she added, more as an afterthought than anything, "we don't anticipate anything that would take any craft outside of primary energy range, as far as I'm aware."

Eariot nodded. "No, we don't, although that's no reason for carelessness, of course. It's sometimes hard to believe this is really happening," he added quietly, after a moment. "A harvest is such a rare and momentous event, when you think about it."

"I know. That's why we celebrate it."

"And even I'll be there to attend that."

"You say that like it's strange."

Eariot shrugged. "My duties will be needed from here to coordinate. I'll have very little time out on the planet itself. That novelty is mostly for others." He wasn't truly unhappy about it, just slightly wistful.

"Well, if you can spare the attention, we'll be happy to share the sensory experiences," Sippiyid offered.

Eariot blinked at her. "Yes, I suppose there is that, isn't there? Thank you."

* * *

Veen awoke to the sensation of air on his face. Where was he? Back on the Harbinger, or…? No, something wasn't right. He could still feel the armor around him. And, while there were presences, they were unfamiliar, even wrong somehow. Alien. As if…

Veen's eyes snapped open. He lay on his back, strange creatures – vermin – standing over him. They'd broken away most of the helmet from his armor, tearing or slicing right through the membrane as well. Impulsively, wildly, Veen screamed in fury at the one who seemed to be their head, _"What do you think you're doing?!" _

The creature's mind shuddered from the furious contact, almost seeming to fracture like a lump of ice under a blow. There could be no communication here, but if merely trying could hurt them, that was useful. The other creatures had backed away in fear, or were milling in confusion. Veen kept the mental pressure on their leader, and quickly climbed to his feet.

He'd been lying on a table or platform in the middle of a strange room, filled with unknown machinery. The other vermin were mostly dissolving into panic, but one or two were driven by purpose. Veen didn't wait to see what it was. His armor might have taken damage, but it still worked, and with it, he was larger and stronger than these creatures were. He took advantage of that, and attacked.

Veen quickly found that they were indeed no stronger than they looked. Their flesh gave under a hard enough blow, or if he crushed something vital, like their necks. (It was useful that their bodies were roughly the same shape as the Arretchi's, so he could tell where to aim.) In short order, he'd killed all of them, except for the one, which was still writhing under the touch of his mind. But those were only the ones in this room, and he could feel other presences elsewhere in whatever this structure was.

Catching his breath, he looked around, seeking a way out. There wasn't one. The room had a transparent screen taking up much of one wall, but no visible doorways. Something must be designed to open, but he had no way of telling what. Veen looked up sharply. There were more vermin heading this way. They came with purpose, but not alarm or even urgency, so they either didn't know, or weren't too concerned, about what he'd done so far.

How could they not know? There'd been time for the vermin in here to call out. Yet, they didn't seem to communicate in the normal way, and even trying had practically torn this one's mind apart. Who knew how they talked? But, he had this one. Veen thought quickly. Maybe it could be used as some sort of go between. After all, they could be made sense of, if abstractly, and he'd actually reached this one's mind.

He touched a bio-tentacle to the thing's head. Yes, it could make some sense of the nervous system. With concentration, he was pretty sure he could seize control of it. That would probably destroy anything that was left of the creature's mind, assuming he hadn't already, but if more basic functions still worked, if it could still technically "talk", whatever that entailed, it might do for a makeshift translater of sorts. As Veen wrapped the tentacle securely around the thing's neck and let it establish proper contact, he noted that those tentacles apparently did have their uses after all.

The new group of vermin had arrived. They were now on the other side of the screen, and seemed to be confused and increasingly alarmed. Then Veen stiffened. He hadn't noticed before, but in the room beyond the screen, against the back wall, there were corpses on display. Arretchi corpses. There were three of them, mounted in tubes of suspending liquid like gem sculpture-work. It was no one he recognized, probably Eyes from the advanced studies of this planet. To take such a long, isolating mission, only to wind up like this…

Veen tried to contain his fury. He was in no position to deal with an entire nest on his own. He just needed to get himself out of here alive. Then he could get back to the others, and make sure they burned out this horrible place. He and Garasso could lead the attack together. He slammed the body of the vermin he'd co-opted into the screen, and "talked" through its nervous system: "Let me out of here!"

The thing issued sounds. Veen had a feeling only a very basic message would get through, like sending information over the stream, but that would do.

There was a stir of movement among the vermin on the other side, as if they were going to comply, but it cut off quickly, like they'd changed their minds. Instead, they just stared at him in fear and hostility. Veen was feeling fairly scared and hostile himself, and his frustration rose. "Open this room, blast you! Now!"

One of the vermin, afraid but still in control, stepped forward and made sounds in response. Through the one's nervous system, he caught the gist of the creature's meaning. It proposed that its kind and the Arretchi share knowledge and become friends.

What kind of nonsense was this?! "You expect us to forget that you and we are enemies, pretend you're of our kind or something? That isn't going to happen." Veen glared at them. The miserable creatures had him trapped, and it seemed he couldn't intimidate his way out. What he wouldn't give to be in his Striker, weapons aimed right at them, about now.

That vermin, clearly the head of the group beyond the screen, was "communicating" again. It asked what he'd like of them… or of all its kind? Was he supposed to believe it was going to comply now? Veen had had enough of their games, and at that moment, he had only one overly compelling desire in mind. "I'd like to see the whole miserable lot of you dead!"

But then, he recalled, he did have a weapon, of sorts. Deliberately, he reached for the annoying vermin's mind, making direct contact. He didn't bother with anything articulate, just displayed his anger, feeling the thing's mind jerk with pain at his touch. He waited for it to tear like a rotten sheet.

Suddenly, his body exploded in pain as the screen in front of him shattered. Veen felt himself thrown backward to land hard on the floor. Struggling to focus through his agony, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Explosion? No, something more focused, something that had targetted only him, and the glass in its way. Vermin weapon.

Their technology was inferior, but it was surprisingly effective under the right conditions, he thought hazily. His vision was fuzzy, but he made out the figure of one of the vermin, standing over him. Its intent was deadly. Veen wished that, just this once, he had conceded defeat and let Garasso keep all the bragging rights. There was a sharp sound, and fresh pain ripped through him. Then there was nothing more.

* * *

Garasso jerked in horror, eyes wide. There was only one thing that could overcome the normal range limits of communication, and he'd just felt it. He'd felt Veen die.

He shook his head desperately. "No, no, no. We were supposed to find you, even if it took a few cycles. You were supposed to be okay. Veen…"

He could faintly hear other reactions rippling through the ship. No one else here had known him so well, but they'd been close enough for everyone to hear _that_. Several other Harbingers had probably noticed, too.

Garasso drifted away from the others, but before long, he felt Atchak behind him. "I'm sorry."

Garasso didn't turn around. "If you'd let me search for him before, I might have found him. I might have been able to save him."

"You might also have been killed as well."

"And you'd be down by two crewmembers instead of one?" Garasso asked bitterly. "I still should have tried."

"Do you think he'd have wanted you to die as well?" Atchak asked sharply.

Now, Garasso looked around. After a moment, he whispered, "No."

"We don't know what exactly happened," Atchak pointed out, more gently. "But Veen was capable. You know that as well as I do. If he couldn't survive whatever befell him, there's no proof you, or anyone else, would have fared any better. There's a reason we act in coordination, and wait until we've already won before we set foot on the planet and risk direct combat with the remaining vermin. We aren't invincible, unless we're smart enough to make ourselves that way." He bowed his head. "Veen was one of us, and he was under my command. Believe me, I grieve for his loss, too. You're not alone."

"I feel alone," Garasso said quietly. "He and I were friends, and worked together, long before any of this. No one else here can say that."

"And elsewhere? There must be someone, somewhere, that you would talk to."

It was an offer, and Garasso nodded slowly, appreciating it. "On Homeship. Ebbiar."

* * *

Ebbiar was surprised, and initially rather delighted, when a priority message came through from Harbinger 2-6, requesting private communication between her and Garasso. On the other hand, how likely was it that he'd somehow acquired permission to make private calls on a whim? She couldn't help a faint tickle of apprehension as she settled before the console.

Ebbiar opened the link and quickly input her ID code, verifying to the other end of the connection that it was her. Garasso's mark appeared on the screen a moment later. Ebbiar tapped a simple query. "What?"

The reply was somewhat long in coming, and strangely halting, the glyphs appearing slowly, one at a time. "Air combat earlier. Veen. Lost."

Ebbiar quivered slightly in concern. She knew how long Garasso and Veen had been close. If he was missing, it must be hard on Garasso. "Any knowledge what happened to him?"

The reply took even longer to appear this time, but when it did, Ebbiar's eyes widened. "Heard him. Dead."

"Garasso. So sorry. So sorry."

The message repeated across the screen, stark but heartfelt. Too far away to truly reach each other, it was all they had. But it was better than nothing.

Garasso leaned his head against the screen and closed his eyes.

* * *

Harbinger 2-4 had just settled into place above another nest, and Felluw gave the order to prepare the thermetic cascade. This was beginning to feel like make-work in a way. The nest was all but empty, and it hadn't been the only one. The vermin had apparently taken a hint and well and properly scattered, though it wasn't certain yet where most of them had gone. If they didn't visibly regather soon, the final clean-up would become more difficult.

Still, it was wise to ensure that they didn't have their original nests to just flood back into as soon as one looked elsewhere. Felluw wasn't complaining about having to do the job. He knew he was sometimes suspected of being easily impatient, even bordering on impetuous, as had been suggested when he'd wanted to take the initiative against those aircraft before the countdown had ended. However, he only grew impatient when he had nothing at all to do but wait. Now, they had a job, and he was quite willing to see it through to the end.

They picked up another native aircraft, heading straight for them. Felluw rolled his eyes. There's been a spate of such attacks before, right after they'd started moving along their routes, but he'd thought they'd all ceased.

"Just one craft?" That was confirmed. He supposed it was some final expression of desperation. "It will perish in the cascade. Open the panels."

"It's launched an attack," someone reported.

Felluw shrugged. "It doesn't matter." They knew by now about the explosive projectiles of the vermin. The things were harmless against their ships.

The whole Harbinger suddenly quaked. Felluw staggered, barely managing to keep his feet. He looked around wildly. There was no immediate sign of damage or malfunction, nor any word of what had happened. Everyone else was as shocked as he was. "What was that?!"

"It came from outside," someone reported, studying the screens. "It scans almost like a starflare, but it seems to have originated from the vermin projectile."

Felluw stared. "A vermin weapon contained power like that? Did we take damage?"

"No."

"What does it look like outside?"

"There's a considerable residue of radiation, several kinds, some deadly. The nest has been reduced to ruins."

Felluw considered that. "The vermin have resorted to desperation tactics." He looked up. "Close the panels and start for our next target. There's nothing left to do here. We'll warn the other Harbingers of this."

* * *

Atchak, like the others, received the message. The vermin had resorted to a new attack, strong enough to shake a Harbinger. "Still, it doesn't appear that this is a threat," he noted to Terryf. "Only an annoyance."

"Probably true. Still, the vermin of this planet are decidedly tenacious. I think that clearing out the last of them will be prove to be a challenge, before all's said and done."

Atchak sighed. "It probably will. We'll have to be careful at that stage, when we could be in actual danger."

"They're already a danger. They killed Veen." Garasso had been quiet, withdrawn, for a while, but now he stood in the doorway of the central chamber, eyes steely.

"We don't know for sure how Veen died," Atchak reminded him quietly.

"Don't we? He didn't die in the crash of his Striker. He certainly wasn't struck by a comet. No, it was them. The vermin." Garasso radiated cold fury. "I want to be on the front lines of the final assault when it comes. And any air battles that occur between now and then."

"Garasso…" Atchak was concerned.

"I mean it."

Atchak sighed. "Very well."


	3. Chapter 3

**Landing Day**

Part 3

The announcement was made to all of Homeship. "The destruction of the vermin nests is well on its way to completion. Landing Day should commence within the cycle. Everyone, begin your preparations to descend to the planet. Anyone not otherwise occupied should acquire armor, and accustom themselves to it."

Armor was specialty gear, not general supplies, and not normally under Sippiyid's jurisdiction. However, normally it wasn't required to provide it to all of Homeship at once. Sippiyid was well used to overseeing the moving of supplies throughout Home. Thus, this job was accomplished by a collaboration between departments.

Ebbiar and the other Distributors helped hand it out. It was many sub-cycles before they were done, and finally had a chance to grab some for themselves. Ebbiar had never worn armor before. Of course, neither had any of the others. It was only used for venturing outside Homeship, and those with experience with such things were all down on the Harbingers now.

Ebbiar took a deep breath before stepping back into the armor frame and activating it. The membrane moved first, wrapping itself around her and adjusting like a second skin. It had a strange, spongey feel, and her skin prickled as it settled into place, coming into resonance with her nervous system. Then the armor itself closed up around her. The limbs were longer than her own, and then there was the mass of bio-tentacles extending from the back. The membrane provided a conduit through which to control all of it.

It felt slightly awkward, at first, as if all her movements were second hand. However, she got used to it quickly. She could walk and gesture freely, even flex the tentacles as she liked. She had seen Garasso in his armor on plenty of occassions, and always thought he looked impressive. Now she was wearing it herself.

She wondered what he'd think when he saw her. Would he be impressed as well? Would he say she looked all grown up? She almost felt it.

* * *

It was a surprising development, at this stage, but it didn't take any of the Harbingers long to notice. There was a buzzing of purpose, of anticipation and hope, and determination, coming from the surface below—from everywhere on the surface, like some network that covered the whole planet. They'd thought the vermin were as good as beaten, but apparently the vermin hadn't gotten that message.

The resulting orders from Homeship were simple. "Find hotspots. Find center if possible. Target and destroy." It wasn't hard to locate those hotspots, the places where it was actually coming from, and soon numerous Harbingers had adjusted course toward their new targets. Harbinger 2-6 had picked one up us well.

"It feels… Do you think we've found the center of the phenomenon?" Atchak asked Terryf.

"Maybe. You're right, there is a sense about it as if it might be. Either way, it's definitely a hotspot."

Atchak nodded. "It looks like a fallback nest. It's small, compared to the original nests," he observed, studying the images on the screen. "There won't be much to conduct the cascade, but then, it won't need to go far. Adjust course."

"I wonder what the vermin mean to try?" Terryf mused. "Clearly, something, but what can they do? They tried that flare weapon, but it didn't gain them anything."

"Perhaps that fact didn't sink in. I don't suppose it matters. We aren't going to give them time to do much of anything."

* * *

It wasn't long before a fleet of native craft emerged from the nest ahead. While coming in their general direction, the craft warily kept their distance. Even so, Atchak had the Striker pilots poised to take off, just in case. Of course, in some cases, there was little stopping them anyway.

Garasso was right where he'd insisted on being, at the front of the fleet, ready to go out there as soon as he got the chance. As he tensely waited, Garasso mused how strange it seemed, this serious anticipation. Normally, he and Veen would be challenging each other right now, boasting about their accomplishments to come and mocking the other. But Veen was gone now, thanks to _them_.

Garasso vowed to himself that they'd pay.

* * *

Eariot looked at the screen in surprise as it reported a ship coming in. A Scout. But there had been no Scouts deployed for master-cycles, not since they'd gathered in the last of them shortly before reaching this planet. They were well past the point of surveillance and study.

Proximity had activated its automatic homing approach at the same time it had alerted his system to its existance, and the Scout was already inside Homeship, making its way steadily toward the docks. The system was waiting for Eariot to input a dock assignment.

Homeship's Descent was planned for the imminent future, as soon as they had confirmation that a newly discovered rash of fallback nests had been burned out. Nearly everybody was already gathered on the Great Floor, ceremoniously waiting for the Descent to begin. Eariot could hear them, wondering what was with the Scout that was now flying over their heads. Eariot wondered that himself.

He checked the ship's number, and blinked in surprise. He remembered that one. It was one of the first Scouts sent to study this planet, back when they'd originally detected it. It was the one that had been lost. He'd always thought it was destroyed, but it seemed it had found its way back, after all this time.

He hit a button, directing it to an available dock. There weren't many to choose from. Most of the Strikers were out with the Harbingers (and those that remained, he was letting trainee pilots take turns borrowing), but the Scout docks were fairly full. As the ship angled into place, Eariot waited for whomever was in it to say something, but there was nothing. He wasn't even sure if there was anyone in there. It almost seemed like he could feel a presence, but it was hard to pin down, as if they were trying to conceal themselves.

As the docking clamps locked around the ship, Eariot called out to those currently in authority, the planning council for the harvest, for their input. Baaln told him to leave it for now, unless the pilot actually spoke up, and they'd give it their attention as soon as they could. They were busy just now with final preparations. Fair enough.

While he waited, Eariot brought up the file on the Scout's original loss. It had carried a typical crew of three Eyes, and been among the first exploratory foray. Within a cycle of arriving on the planet, the Scout had sent a message, reporting environment-induced mechanical failure and imminent crash. That had been its last contact, but prompt reports from the other Scouts had confirmed the deaths of two out of the three Eyes. They had failed to locate or make any contact with the survivor, one Pumik, and had had little time to try. Under the threat of further losses, the remaining Scouts had been promptly recalled, so those and all other ships could be proofed against the planet's atmospheric conditions. None of the numerous subsequent studies had found any trace of Pumik's fate, and he was strongly suspected to be long dead.

Eariot looked up at the newly returned ship again. Was he in there, then? Had he survived after all, and finally made his way back? Eariot could see that the Scout had been extensively, and somewhat roughly, repaired. It must have been difficult and time-consuming getting it to fly again, marooned on a planet alone with little to work with. If Pumik had pulled that off, Eariot was impressed. Still, why didn't he speak, or make any move to come out? Why hide?

Eariot was distracted from his musings a moment later, when his console suddenly turned into a fuzzy mess. No, it wasn't just his. There were outcries of startlement, and alarm, from all over Homeship. The whole system seemed to be massively malfunctioning, somehow.

"What's going on?" Eariot wasn't nearly the only one to ask.

Mostly, the responses were "I don't know!", but there was a good bit of outcry from those who were trying to make sense of the problem.

"Is the system failing?"

"I don't think so. It's still working, mostly, but barely."

"Do we know what's causing it?"

"Everything's impaired, but we're still managing to maintain control."

"The primary energy shielding has failed."

"And the Gate's back-up shield?!"

"It's at a fraction of the power, but it's still holding. Otherwise we'd be getting sucked into space about now."

"What happened? Did we take some kind of damage?"

"Maybe it came from the planet. They said the vermin seemed poised to try something."

"No, the problem's internal. Something within the system did it."

"How does something like that happen?"

"We can't trace the source of it, not with everything impaired as it is."

"I think we can get it stabilized, but fixing it's another matter. I don't know how long it will be before we can figure out a real solution."

"Look out, the problem's gone through the stream, too. The Harbingers will be affected as well."

* * *

Those on the Harbingers indeed soon found themselves struggling with a suddenly mysteriously impaired system. Though the screens were either fuzzy or flickering erratically, most of them were legible enough to read glyphs. Homeship sent what explanation it could, but it was clear that they didn't know much either.

"We're on the edge of our final triumph, and suddenly we're being troubled with inexplicable problems? There's something about that that doesn't seem proper," Atchak commented. "Ah, well. The system is impaired, and responding sluggishly, but it still seems to work. This shouldn't stop us from getting the job done."

"It doesn't appear that it will," Terryf said slowly. Her answer was slightly distracted, as she was still looking through their systems, making sure it wasn't, in fact, worse than it looked.

They vaguely took notice when the fleet of vermin craft outside finally ventured close enough to start taking tentative shots at them. That was the least of their worries. They took considerable notice, however, when the ship shuddered slightly to the sound of a distant explosion, and the readouts, after a few moments, managed to produce a report that their hull had taken damage.

"That was a vermin attack?! They're hurting the ship?"

Terryf scrutinized the screens. "The energy shielding has been hit harder than most functions by whatever's happening," she informed him. "It's failed completely. We're vulnerable to those explosions. I don't know how much of a threat they really are, but…"

The Harbinger shuddered again, harder. "The vermin clearly noticed the opportunity," Atchak said sourly, narrowing his eyes at the displays. "They're gleefully assaulting our hull."

"Then we'll go out there and remove them." It was Garasso. Like the rest of the ship, he'd been listening, and he was, Atchak realized, already starting to move his Striker forward. Many of the other pilots were poised to follow.

"Wait a moment." Atchak turned to Terryf, who was still studying the system's status. "Has the Strikers' shielding failed as well?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You heard that," Atchak warned the pilots. "You're vulnerable, and if you go out there now, you could easily get shot down. If you engage the vermin, _be careful_."

"Acknowledged." Atchak wasn't sure that all of the responses were convincing enough, but he let them go. The vermin craft had suddenly become an actual problem, and needed to be dealt with.

Garasso was very determined to deal with them. Bursting out into the open air, he quickly turned his attention to shooting down as many of the native craft as he could. He was rewarded to see one, then another, explode before him, but it was just a beginning. Once, he would have strived to rack up kills, just so he could end up with more than Veen by battle's end. Now, Veen was gone forever, and he would see every vermin here pay for it.

Despite his focus on that task, though, something tore at his attention. It wasn't just vermin that were being blown out of the air. Strikers were being destroyed, and he could hear their pilots dying. He tried to block it out, but the death cries increased, more and more of them all around him. They were dying to the vermin craft.

"One wing, split off," Atchak ordered from inside the Harbinger. "Go ahead to the nest and launch an advance strike." That wasn't necessary, as the Harbinger was going to destroy the nest directly anyway, but the echo of his intention came through clearly enough: "Doing so should keep you alive longer than continuing this fight will."

Were they suddenly so desperate? Well they might be, Garasso realized. Nearly half the Striker fleet had been killed already. They were in real trouble, and he felt what was left of his fury shatter under the shock of that realization. The vermin of this planet, which should have been easily disposed of, had somehow become a true threat to _them_. The vermin that had killed Veen…

"I'm sorry, Veen," Garasso whispered. "Your death was a warning, and I didn't listen. I was too busy raging to see." Something on his screen drew his eye, and he realized that one of the vermin's exploding projectiles was coming up behind, flying straight for him. He tried to get clear, but the Striker's controls weren't responding quite fast enough, and the thing was already too close. He wouldn't be able to evade it.

Garasso looked upward, in the direction where Homeship waited. "Ebbiar…"

* * *

The anticipation among the masses on Homeship had been replaced by consternation. The sudden problem with their systems had been unnerving enough, but now, word was coming from the Harbingers that the vermin were fighting back, and doing real damage. Many of their people were dying down there, a quite a few up here were close enough to some of them to feel it, even over such a distance as that.

Garasso's death struck Ebbiar almost like a blow. One moment, she'd been listening to the confusion and distress of the others around her, and telling herself that surely he could make it through whatever was happening. The next, she clearly heard him, just a instant's worth of a cry that she knew would be the last time she ever did.

"No," she whispered, shocked and reeling. "Oh, no." Turning, Ebbiar stumbled away from the others, and the ceremonial grouping that they still mostly stood in. No one tried to stop her. She felt Sippiyid looking after her in concern, but she didn't try to stop her either. Ebbiar made her way to one of the public screens. The image was unsteady, but it still showed the planet below. Ebbiar stared at the planet that was supposed to have been the cause of their celebration. The planet where Garasso had just died.

* * *

Eariot had almost forgotten about the mystery of the Scout, in the shadow of everything else that was going on. His attention was drawn back to it, though, when it suddenly moved. It didn't actually go anywhere, of course – it was clamped into place – but it seemed as if it had tried to take off again, regardless.

Eariot stared at it. What was going on with that ship? The actions of whomever was inside made no sense, and in fact, he still couldn't clearly sense whether there was anyone inside or not. Hmm. Well, it was easily docked close enough to his control room for him to see inside from here, had the windshield not been covered. Eariot tapped at his controls, remote opening the shell covering.

The system was indeed responding sluggishly, but it still worked. Maybe his section hadn't been hit as hard as some others. The shell slowly slid aside. Eariot caught a brief glimpse of movement from within, as if someone, or a few someones, had hastily ducked out of sight as it opened. Someone definitely wanted to hide, but why? Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Eariot cautiously called out. "Who's in there?"

There was no answer. In fact, there was a strange lack of connection, as if whoever it was hadn't heard him. Yet, they were there. He could tell that now. Eariot shook his head in confusion. Who was that, and what were they doing?

* * *

Atchak was not happy at all. The Striker fleet had been decimated, and it appeared that the crews of many other Harbingers, maybe even all of them, had suffered the same fate. The vermin had taken advantage of their moment of weakness with devastating effect. Atchak wasn't sure he wanted to think of what that might imply about the cause of that moment of weakness.

On the other hand, the Harbinger itself had weathered the vermin's attacks, despite considerable surface damage to the hull, and they had now reached their target: the small nest that had produced these attacking craft. They'd see if burning that nest put a stop to this.

"Open the panels and prepare the thermetic cascade to fire," Atchak ordered. "Pilots …those who remain, prepare to get clear. Without energy shielding, you won't survive being in range of the cascade."

"The cascade's system is responding slowly as well," someone reported.

"Will it still work properly?" Atchak asked, concerned.

"Yes. It will take slightly longer than usual, but it will work as it should."

"Good. Proceed."

A moment later, there was a brief rippling of alarm. "One of the vermin weapons struck a panel. No harm done, but that was dangerously close to the device itself."

Terryf looked up, concerned. "If the cascade is damaged, especially while we're in the process of firing it…"

"I know. Make sure that doesn't happen again," he ordered the pilots.

Immediately, one of them called back, "A vermin craft is going straight for the cascade. It's clearly intending to attack it directly." A moment later, he reported again, "It's all right. I took it out. It doesn't appear any more are trying that."

Indeed, it felt like the vermin were on the verge of giving up and pulling back at last. However, Atchak barely had time to be relieved when he felt them resurging, as if to renew their attack. However, the cascade was nearly ready. "Just hold them back a little bit longer."

That pilot from before responded in alarm, "They're hitting us more fiercely. I don't think…" Then, with a cry, he was gone. It seemed nearly all of the pilots were, and those few who remained were dwindling quickly. Atchak gripped the side of a console in frustration.

"Wait. Are the vermin backing off again?" Terryf asked. "Or, no, they…"

"They're giving off mixed signals. It doesn't matter anymore. Fire the thermetic cascade!"

The carrier beam was targetted, and though slightly delayed, the pulse would soon be released. "Hold on! One of the vermin craft is right in the beam."

Atchak snarled in frustration at this report. "It will intercept the pulse that way. Someone, down that craft!" There was no one outside left to answer. Atchak whirled and looked at the screen. The offending craft didn't move on. In fact, it was flying upwards toward them—while still firmly within the carrier beam. "It's getting too close. That will be far worse than just intercepting. Withhold the pulse."

"We can't! It's already set, and the system won't respond quickly enough for the new command to go through. We can't stop it from firing!"

The crewmember's report rang with fear, and Atchak didn't blame him. He and Terryf looked at each other in horror. They knew what was about to happen. As close as that craft was, it would inevitably intercept, and set off, the pulse in range of their own ship. The cascade would rip through the Harbinger, destroying it, and everyone on board.

Atchak heard the soft but unmistakable sound of the pulse firing. He closed his eyes. "Oh, Void."

His world exploded.

* * *

Felluw looked around sharply as one of his crew reported, "We've just lost 2-7 and 1-12 as well."

"More Harbingers destroyed?" It wasn't bad enough that his Striker fleet had been nearly destroyed by those wretched vermin out there, and that they were still blowing off pieces of his outer hull, now it seemed they were being inundated with reports of actual Harbingers lost. "How are the vermin doing that?! They can't hit that hard!"

"Apparently, they're targeting the thermetic cascade, to devastating effect. As far as we can tell, two ships were destroyed by direct backfire, the other three by terminal breach."

Felluw growled in frustration. Suddenly, there was a cry of alarm. "The vermin are attacking the cascade on our ship as well! The panels have been blown off! What's left of the Strikers can't get close enough to intercept."

"No!" Felluw looked around wildly, searching in vain for an inspiration. "Is there any way that we can stop them?"

The reply was stark and to the point. "No. There isn't."

* * *

On Homeship, confusion and fear reigned. Their Harbingers were being destroyed, and those on them were dying in droves. On the very edge of their victory, with Landing Day imminent, everything was falling apart, and they could barely make sense of it. While those who currently had direct responsibilities were still trying to find something they could do, most of the masses on the Great Floor had joined in the Thoughtsea, the better to cling to each other in the midst of the incomprehensible disaster.

Ebbiar didn't join them. She saw that Sippiyid had, and Ebbiar didn't blame her or any of them, but she didn't think there was any comfort to be had that way. What would fill the Thoughtsea now, but the fear and confusion that already gripped them, amplified all around them?

Instead, Ebbiar stood alone, looking forlornly at the image of the planet below. She should have been standing on it by now. The Harbingers should have reported all nests burned out, and the Descent should have occurred. Ebbiar would set foot on the surface of a real planet, and Garasso would be there waiting to greet her. They would celebrate the Landing Day festivities together. Then everyone would get to work, clearing out any straggling vermin that remained and gathering the harvest. It would be a great bustle of activity and community, amidst the fascinating environment of the planet.

That was how it should have been. Instead, there was only disaster, and death.

* * *

Everything was in shambles. If that was Pumik in that Scout, he'd gained precious little by coming back, Eariot feared. In truth, he wasn't sure the mystery of the Scout and its mysterious occupants mattered so much any more, given everything else that was happening. He supposed he just preferred pondering it to listening too closely to everything going on around him.

Suddenly, two figures revealed themselves within the ship. Eariot stared in shock. They weren't Arretchi. They were… what? The local vermin? But, how? What little he'd sensed from in there had come from them. Seeing them, he was sure, now. There was no one else in there.

But, Arretchi ships couldn't be flown by vermin. If the system didn't scan a proper pilot in there, it wouldn't respond. And if the system wasn't working, it obviously couldn't fly in the first place. So how had those two managed to get here?

The two creatures were making gestures, and pulling strange facial espressions. Were they trying to communicate? Eariot brought up the scanner-translator. There was usually little use for that program, but it was there, just in case some other lifeform was considered worth seeking information from. At least it responded comparatively quickly, considering.

The result that appeared on Eariot's screen was more a crude pictograph than a real glyph. As near as he could translate it, it read, "Ha ha, prepare to die." Eariot looked up in alarm. Before he had time to think further, a large object smashed through the wall. Eariot barely threw himself out of the way as it rammed through the control room and the wall on the other side, coming to rest partway through that wall. It had been fired from the Scout, and seemed to be something akin to a large support beam.

There was a lot of alarmed yelling, mostly from the those who'd been manning the computer station on the other side of the wall. "What's going on?! What is this?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Eariot glimpsed the Scout flying away at high speed. The clamps had come loose, and the creatures were fleeing, after have done their damage—maybe quite a lot of damage, for Eariot now suspected that he knew where the disruption to their system had come from. He quickly relayed the information.

Still mostly sprawled on the floor, Eariot listened as several of the rookie pilots who'd been trying out the Strikers promptly took off in pursuit. He could hear them, yelling furiously or boasting about their imminent kill, as they chased after the Scout. However, despite their boasts, they failed to catch it or shoot it down. It was fleeing back toward the Gate, and someone swiftly closed the hard-doors. Unfortunately, their system was still responding far too sluggishly. The doors didn't close quickly enough, and the Scout escaped through them. Eariot heard the frustration of the furiously pursuing pilots—right before they fatally crashed themselves against those same doors.

Eariot winced. He might have known they weren't ready for a chase demanding real flying skill. If only some of their truly qualified pilots had been around. On the other hand, Eariot noted bitterly, they were probably all dead by now, too. He climbed to his feet and gloomily surveyed the wreckage of his control room.

That beam had torn right through the main console, and that part of the system certainly wouldn't be working any more now, impaired or otherwise. At least most of the side consoles were still intact.

A flicker of movement drew Eariot's gaze to the beam itself. There was a small display panel on the side, with some kind of symbols on it. A couple of the symbols were changing as he watched, like an active read-out; that was what he had seen. In fact, they seemed to be progressing through a pattern, and one of the changing ones took the appearance of the static ones, which were all the same symbol, then froze that way as well. He suspected that the last symbol would soon follow. It was some kind of alignment or countdown.

Wait, didn't the local vermin favor weapons that took the form of solid projectiles, yet unleashed explosions? Weapons they shot from their own small craft?

"Oh, no," he muttered. It was his last thought.

* * *

Ebbiar whirled around at the explosion. It was distant, from another part of Homeship, but it was huge, engulfing everything. And everyone; she could feel it. The Core had breached. Ebbiar didn't have time to wonder how that had happened. Somehow, it didn't seem worth wondering. In fact, there was something strangely fitting about it.

Turning her back on the swiftly approaching blast, Ebbiar reached out her hand toward the image of the planet on the screen. The planet they were supposed to celebrate on. The planet where Garasso would have been waiting to greet her.

The explosion hit.


End file.
